Stormy Reunion
by ddggrule
Summary: The Doctor finds himself in an all too familiar universe, with an all too familiar foe...and an all too familiar companion. //TenxRose, set before S4, alternate reunion.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1 - The Walls are Broken -------------------**

Martha Jones stepped out of the TARDIS, blocking the sun from her face with a hand.

Shutting the door behind her, she began a stroll about the park in which they'd landed; a few people were walking and talking, accompanied with their kids, others by dogs; a senior couple were sat on a bench, husband deep in sleep and wife attempting a SuDoku; kids played in a small sandpit, a girl determined on building a sturdy sandtower while two boys duelled with their plastic spades; a young couple were running around, the man chasing the woman - every time he got close enough, he drew her in close with his arms and tickled her playfully, causing her to giggle and squeal uncontrollably.

Martha was surprised how, after all the places she'd visited, after everything she'd seen, Earth could seem so alien to her. She wasn't used to...normality.

Was this the sacrifice to be made when travelling with the Doctor? To become so used to this frantic lifestyle, never stopping to catch a breath, that she would lose what is essentially her own "normality"? Her home?

She smiled fondly upon noticing a patch of bluebells; her father's favourite flower. She stopped to take in the scent, sweet and crisp, her mind filling with memories of him. That was something the Doctor had never asked her about: her family. How long had it been since she'd last spoken to her dad? Days? Months? Years? Another problem with this lifestyle: you lose track of time, in more ways than one.

There was a point. Where was she, and, probably the more sensible question to ask, when?

The Doctor had just upped and left. She had made a mistake, she admitted - she vowed never to touch the TARDIS' control panel again - but ditching her like this seemed a bit unfair. However, she felt incapable of arguing with him at the time; his whole manner, not to mention the look he passed her way, told her that any attempt in defending herself would have been useless. It was a look she'd never seen in him before.

Wherever they were, whenever they were, he didn't want to be here.

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The Doctor's thoughts were a mess. He himself was surprised at how he'd reacted to being here, disbelieving of the readings the TARDIS' screens had displayed - more impossibilities that kept being proven possible. How in all the universes could they have wound up *here*? And why, of all places, did it have to be *here*?

A sudden pang of guilt hit him as he remembered how he'd treated Martha. "Curiosity killed the cat, I s'ppose..." he mumbled.

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"Anything else with that, m'am?"

"No, that'll be all thanks," Martha replied and smiled at the waiter, who strode off towards the kitchen. She thought he was handsome, behind the large spectacles, with kind eyes and wavy blonde locks of hair. No doubt he had some flaws, she thought.

The small cafe seemed out of place. The surroundings, as Martha had discovered on her quick trek around the area, were fairly rough. Council flats lined the streets, graffiti cropped up regularily and the smell of fish and chips was inescapable, so she was grateful to find a cozy little tearoom. Tea was something she had missed.

She wandered where the Doctor was, and what he was doing, with a burning to desire to apologise to him. He had mentionned an "impossibility", or something similar when fuming upon arrival, and his face had paled when he glanced at the readings on one of the TARDIS' monitors. The look he had given her afterwards had assured her of the gravity of what she'd done, although she was clueless as to what that actually was.

She was in London; street signs told her that. The looks she had gotten when inquiring after the year were embarassing, to say the least, but, after much assurance of her sanity, a self-claimed 'gangsta' called Mick told her it was 2014 (which immediately prompted Martha into calculating all the ages of people she knew; she was shocked realising she would now be in her thirties). Buying a paper from the local newsagents got her up to speed on a few turn of events that had happened in the last seven years. She was particularily surprised by a few political bulletins, including several attempts on Bush's life, aswell as the rapid progress made with the International Space Station, although she scoffed when reading " 'Leona - Greatest Hits' goes quadruple Platinum in under Six Weeks." Obviously people's taste in music doesn't improve with time.

Her nose informed her of the steaming pot of tea now on the table, the aroma drawing her back to reality. She hadn't even noticed the waiter placing it infront of her. Feeling bad, she glanced round the room, eyes seeking him out. Finding him, he looked up at her, on cue, from the counter across the room and, noticing the apologetic look in her eyes, winked at her. Embarassed, her eyes darted to avoid his gaze and she felt her cheeks warm and redden. He smiled warmly at her, and she couldn't help but giggle.

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The Doctor had resolved not to just sit around and worry. Of all the things to be concerned about, he was surprised how the situation he was in had taken top priority. He'd confronted some of the fiercest beings in creation, put his life on the line countless times. "Lucky to be alive...?" he muttered. "Nah, just too good."

Oddly, self-assurance wasn't working. In no way was his life now in danger - well, that is if you omit the possibility of a road accident, or a knifing, or an explosion in the general area, or an asteroid hitting the Earth, or a shooting, or both his hearts failing - yet here, more than anywhere, he was afraid of being.

Genuinely afraid.

He did a U-turn on the pavement, walking back to find Martha, to get in the TARDIS and to leave this place.

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His name was Lloyd.

He worked mornings 'till early afternoon, so his shift had ended at two o'clock. For a reason Martha couldn't quite explain, she had waited around in the cafИ for some time, more than a few hours, and was thoroughly pleased when - having discarded his apron and bid his colleagues goodbye for the day - Lloyd had asked her if he could take her for a drink.

"You work in a *cafe*. Don't you get bored of drinks?" To this, she had received a mock-confused look, followed by a hearty laugh, before he had grabbed her hand and whisked her out into the street in search of the nearest bar.

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He hadn't called.

He always called when he finished work. Always. What was different about today?

"Oi, little madam, for the last time speed it up! Your lunch is practically frozen to the plate! And don't you think I'll reheat it for you! Cats are looking awfully hungry..."

She smiled at her mother's voice, bellowing over the intercom. "Be there in a sec mum," she returned.

"You said that five minutes ago!" was her reply, followed by an over-exaggerated sigh. "I mean it, I'll feed it to the cats!"

The woman laughed, "Okay, okay. I'm coming."

Standing up from her office chair, she looked out of the window. So high up; London stretched for miles into the distance, small figures of people busying away with their lives below. Normal lives.

Walking out of the room, she remembered she'd left something and doubled-back on herself. When she came out of the room a second time, the only change to her was an object she now wore on her person.

Around her neck, on a chain, there was a small, golden key.

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"I'm sorry that, of all the places to go, I could find no more exotic than 'The Boar's Head'," he apologised sarcastically, taking another swig of his drink. Martha smiled. She observed that, glasses removed - used for reading and writing purposes only - he did indeed have very handsome features. His face was angular and well-toned, and his stubble gave it a rugged edge. His eyes were a deep cerulean colour, always very focused on something, and his eyebrows grew in such a way that, when relaxed, they arched ever so slightly and gave him a constantly mellowed look. She liked his hair, too, fairly long and wavy and loose. He regularily brushed back one particular lock which fell infront of his left eye from time to time.

"If you like, I could give you a magnifying glass."

He'd noticed. How long had she been looking at him for? Martha stumbled for words, "No, really that's not....well, I mean I uh....you don't have to...not that I was...you know...." She quickly found and downed a large volume of her drink - too much - causing her to choke and cough. God, she felt stupid.

Lloyd laughed warmly, patting her on the back. "Whoah, slow down," he said cheerfully, "can't have you dying on me now, can we?"

Martha gave him a grateful look. "Sorry," she replied, coughing once more, "I didn't mean to...well, stare..."

He chuckled, "Oh please, we all like to be admired once in a while and, besides, it gave me a chance to appreciate your eyes. Very beautiful l'il orbs you've got there."

Martha stared at him incredulously. "We've only just met, and here you are flirting with me! And, might I add, blatantly!"

Lloyd faked a stung look, "Well, if you'd rather I stopped, that can be arranged." He gave her a boyish grin. "And, might *I* add, what other kind of flirting is there?"

Putting on a posh accent, Martha jested, "It's called 'subtlety', my dear." She smiled, before continuing. "But, I suppose, I shouldn't expect a ruffian such as yourself to be able grasp the concept of such a thing."

Llyod gave her a mock death-glare, and she just burst out laughing.

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Walking at a slightly brisker pace than normal, the Doctor searched the streets for Martha. Occassionally, he'd stop a passer-by: "'Scuse-me, you haven't seen a woman have you? Tall, dark-skinned, wacky hair...? Nope? Oh..."; "Hello? Yes, you...have you seen a certain 'Martha Jones' wandering around?"; "Beg pardon, have you seen a girl...well, not a girl, a lady...well, I say a lady...oh never mind."

A half-hour later, leaving a few distressed pedestrians in his wake, The Doctor resigned at being social and let his eyes, ears and nose do the work.

"Wow, that worked surprisingly well," he commented to himself, almost instantly noticing Martha in a pub window. "Wait a minute, who's that with...?" He noticed a man sitting across from her, smiling fondly as she blushed at something he'd said. He'd left her alone for how long? And, already, she was on a date.

He rolled his eyes; "Women."

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Sitting with her mother around a table, picking at her food with a fork in one hand, the blonde-haired woman stared vacantly at the wall, twiddling the golden key in the other. He still hadn't called.

"Something's on your mind? Busy day in the office?"

She grunted. "It's always busy in the off..." she trailed off, and shook her head slightly. This is her mother she was talking to; after all they'd been through, she could never keep a secret from her. "Sorry mum...I wasn't completely with it."

"I'll say. You've barely touched your salad, " her mother replied.

She smiled warmly at her. "This salad? As in the salad that will 'need reheating'?"

Her mother chuckled slightly at the joke. "There, see, you smiled! You *can* smile! Now, if only you'd do it more..."

The girl sighed, "Oh, I would, it's just..." she paused for a minute, "well, Lloyd didn't call today, and you know as well as I do that that's unusual." She thought about what she'd said for a second. "Actually, it's a first."

"Oh, think nothing of it sweetheart. Llyod's a nice lad. I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable excuse - maybe his phone's died, or something important's come up."

"Yeah," the girl mused to herself and forced a smile. "Yeah, you're probably right." She put down her fork and rubbed her forehead with the free hand, the golden key still twiddling in the other.

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"What's all this?" the Doctor queried at Martha upon walking into the bar. "We have one tiny row, and I find you in the company of another man." He strolled purposefully up to the table she shared with Lloyd. "Am I really that forgettable?"

She stood up, defiantly, angered by the Doctor's carefree manner. She expected any minute now for him to begin repromanding her again. However, the Doctor's gaze was soft and he regarded Martha with honest eyes: "I'm sorry."

Martha blinked. It took a second to register that he'd just apologised to her, angered as she was; he had, after all, abandoned her and scolded her for something she'd done, which she STILL didn't know *exactly* what was. But she did know the Doctor wasn't a man to be angered for no reason. His life experience eclipsed hers, as it always would, and he'd been travelling for centuries. She should have shown him the respect he deserved, and listened to him when he'd said not to touch anything in the TARDIS. "No," she replied, "I am. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Her sincerety surprised the Doctor - it even surprised herself - but he returned the apology with a massive grin. "Come here," he said, and pulled her into an embrace.

"By the way," Martha added in his arms, "F.Y.I, I don't think anyone could forget you if they tried." They both laughed at this.

"I'm sorry, who is this man?"

Martha quickly pushed away from the Doctor with a jerk, sending him backwards a few inches. She'd completely forgotten Lloyd was still sat there, and he looked slightly put out.

"I could ask you the same question," the Doctor answered before she could, regaining his balance.

Martha figured she should get involved before it got too...well, involved. "Okay then, it looks like introductions are in order. Lloyd, I'd like you to meet the Doctor. Just the Doctor, really, nothing else, and Doctor I'd like you to meet Ll --"

"What did you say?"

Interrupted, Martha looked at Lloyd, who stared back at her with wide eyes. He glanced at the Doctor, his face as if he'd just seen a ghost. "His name," Lloyd continued, finger raised, pointing at the Doctor, "what did you say his name was?" There was urgency in his question.

"Martha, I think we should leave," the Doctor interjected, "now." Worry was everywhere in his voice.

"You're him, aren't you?"

The Doctor just stood there, said nothing.

"This is preposterous," Lloyd continued in disbelief, "she *always* goes on about you, all your adventures." There was a pause as he eyed him up. "How could you do it to her?"

The Doctor's face was expressionless, "You speak as if I had a choice, like I could have done something." His eyes were moist. "And, believe me, I wish I could've. But I couldn't; she made her own decision."

Lloyd's eyes glazed over with pure contempt in that instant. "You ruined her life. *You* did, and you have the nerve to say it was her own fault?! You --"

"I didn't say she was to blame!" the Doctor snapped. "But she made the decision. *She* did. She sacrificed herself, for everyone back home." He added with a wry smile, "She saved the world, every last person...and nobody knows."

Martha was just a little confused, "Sorry, Doctor, not that I know who you're talking about, but what do you mean 'back home'? This is Earth, isn't it...? Where exactly are we?"

Lloyd looked at Martha then, very seriously. "Is this her then, Doctor? The replacement?"

The Doctor looked pained by this, and then it clicked for Martha. "Rose," she said simply.

"Rose," Lloyd repeated, "Yes, Rose Tyler."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2 - A Memory -------------------**

Rose leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples with her fingers, sighing. "Long day," she muttered to herself.

Her office was a mess, as usual. Between all the paperwork, moaning employees, government phone calls and rumour-silencing, the cleanliness of her office was something often left overlooked. Empty wrappers, cartons, pieces of scrap paper, ring binders, the odd office supply...she should really think about hiring a maid...

She laughed to herself then, imagining the possible ad in the newspaper:

CLEANER NEEDED Hours negotiable.  
Location: Torchwood Tower (a.k.a. "Canary Wharf)  
Discretion Required.

A buzz sounded from her desk, and, answering the intercom, Rose was greeted by her mother's voice, "Alright sweetheart?"

"Mum?" Rose glanced at her watch, "It's nearly seven o'clock! Shouldn't you be thinking about getting on home?"

"I'm heading off now - your Dad and I were thinking about getting a few drinks down the pub first, before we call it a night. Hmm, I could use a nice G 'n T..."

Rolling her eyes, Rose sighed. "Alrighty then, but don't be out too late; can't have you nodding-off at the help desk tomorrow."

"I'll keep a written tally on my units, and show it to you in the morning," Jackie replied weightily.

Rose laughed. "Okay, okay! Go, go! Give Dad my love."

"Will do...and don't work too late yourself. Turrah!"

Rose sat in silence for a while after that, staring down across the city of London through one of Canary Wharf's large windows. The sun was setting in the distance, colouring the sky a rich crimson-orange, light reflecting brilliantly off many of London's high-rising glass skyscrapers. The streets were slowly clearing of cars and pedestrians, and the expansive metropolis began to wind down for the evening.

For the briefest of moments, a memory surged back into Rose's mind, one from years ago - the scene before her was now imposed by an image of another city, one of a different Earth, with similar tall structures, though greater in size and much greater in abundance, their architecture superb and of a design not conceived in her time. There were no longer any roads on the ground, but they were not needed; all traffic was in the sky overhead, flying through the air. The people walking along the city's streets were not just people - humans were joined by a variety of creatures, all different, all alien. The city itself had a name: New New York.

"Well, technically, it's the fifteenth New York...so that makes it New New New New, New New New New New, New New New New New, New York!!"

She hadn't been prepared to remember him. She smiled at the memory, but knew her eyes betrayed the overwhelming sadness it brought with it. It all seemed such a lifetime ago. "Doctor..."

Before pushing the memory aside, Rose brought the TARDIS key she still had to her lips, letting a lone tear fall down her face to join the many that had done so before it.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3 - Meet the Tylers -------------------**

"I should call her," Lloyd said, running his hand through his hair. He rumaged through his trouser pocket, pulling a mobile phone from it. "I should definitely -"

"You can't!" They stood, Martha Jones, Llyod Pryce and the Doctor, all facing one another in the "Boar's Head". The Doctor grabbed and secured Lloyd's arm with one hand, the other snatching the phone from his grip. "You most certainly can't, you understand? She cannot know I'm here. She can't."

Lloyd rubbed his arm, sore from where the Doctor had wrung it, and regarded him with dangerous eyes. "Give the phone back, Doctor." He took a few steps closer towards him, his face deadly serious. "Now."

Any other man, Martha thought, *any* other man would have handed the phone back at that - the power behind the stare Llyod bore into the Doctor was unbelievably intense - but, no, not the Doctor, never the Doctor. As a result, her thought was followed by the cracking of fist against nose as Llyod swung at him, knocking him to the floor and releasing his grip on the phone. Llyod retrieved it, the Doctor rubbing away the blood flowing down his lips and chin, Martha checking for broken bones and wiping away the blood with a cloth. "That was a bit much, don't you think?!"

"You don't understand, Martha," Llyod replied quietly, "You just don't understand. Now leave it at that." With that, he gave her an apologetic glance and a weak smile and headed for the door. Before exiting, he turned back and looked at the Doctor, struggling to control the tone of his voice. "She always tells me you had loved her. But tell me this, Doctor: what kind of man runs away from the woman he loves?" The Doctor stared back, his expression dark. "You have a second chance, to see her again, to tell her all you couldn't," Lloyd continued, "But, no, instead? Instead you run away, leading the life not of the hero, not of the good samaritan...but of the coward."

And with that, he walked out of the pub and down the street, into the little drizzle that marked the beginning of a storm.

"Charming young man you've got there," the Doctor moaned as Martha worked on his nose, "Tall, and handsome...oh, and did I mention a complete pra -"

"Oy!" finished his sentence as Martha slapped him across the cheek. The Doctor moaned in further pain, looking incredulously at Martha whilst rubbing his cheek. She just rolled her eyes and continued her examination, "And, no, if that bruises I am *not* buying you cover-up. As far as I'm concerned, you deserved it. You were both equally as 'pratty' as the other."

"Oh yes," the Doctor added sarcastically, "just he gets away hand-shaped-bruise-across-cheek-and-bloodied-nose-free, while I sit here in the company of a trainee doctor having some bones realligned!"

"Don't be so melodramatic. As far as I can tell, nothing looks particularly broken."

The Doctor guffawed, "So what is all that *pain* I feel, then?!"

"That's just you," Martha said matter-of-factly, "being a little girl."

The Doctor stared at Martha a while, as she finished off her assessment on his nose. Her normally keen, fiery eyes weren't quite there at the moment, and her actions, while still caring, were slightly fiercer than usual. The Doctor, concerned, braved a question: "Are you alright? I mean, you seem a bit, well, tense..."

No reply. She continued her examination diligently, before finishing and giving a satisfied nod of approval. The Doctor sighed. "Anything on your mind?"

Martha locked her gaze with his. "Surely I should be asking *you* that," she began, "I mean, well, let's go through this: the TARDIS had a hiccup on my part, and landed here. Here, I find, is Earth but, judging by the tiff you and Lloyd have been having, it's not, despite the fact that it looks carbon-copy identical, so excuse my confusion on that part. To add to this, your *ex* is out and about in this place, someone who you always speak of fondly, but in a manner that most would mistake for speaking of a lost loved-one, so the fact that she is, in fact, alive brings in more questions. And, to top this all off, you just got in a fight with, and ruined, my date!"

The Doctor just stared at Martha, mouth agape.

Expecting some sort of explanation, and not getting one, Martha let out an angry grunt, "When you feel like talking, I'll be in the TARDIS!" She threw her cloth at the Doctor, before standing up and leaving the pub, slamming the door behind her.

The Doctor forced himself upright, mouthing "sorry" to everyone else in the pub who'd witnessed the spectacle. Trudging over and slouching into a window seat, he looked out at Martha storming off in the rain. "She's definitely not Rose..."

He remembered her, then. They were sitting across from each other on a table, stranded on the far reaches of space, suspended impossibly above a black hole. Rose knew, like he had done, that they may never have left that place, but she still managed to smile at him. She always seemed to smile at the right times, giving him a reason (just the one, but that was all he needed) to not abandon hope. They'd talked about their futures, what would happen if they'd gotten off that rock, the TARDIS - at the time - lost. A normal life on some planet somewhere, with a house, a garden...and a mortgage. "A normal life with Rose Tyler," the Doctor mumbled to himself. And then he smiled.

He decided to stay indoors for a bit, thinking about what Lloyd had said. Could he face her? Really? It had certainly been a while, for the both of them, and he had all but come to peace with the fact that he may never have seen her again. But now he could. He *could* see her again, see her face, see her eyes, see that smile that melted his hearts, hear her speak, feel her arm locked in his as they walked together.

But what would it do to her, if he just waltzed back into her life? She may have moved on, gotten over him...look at Lloyd. He seemed rather close to her, vehemently defending her as he did. But, then again, why had he been out with Martha? "Agh, all these questions..." The Doctor clasped his head in his hands.

It would have been better had he not arrived, that much was certain to him. So there was his answer. "Leave. Leave before the day gets any worse." He scoffed to himself. "How could it?"

A voice resounded through the room as the door to the pub opened, and the Doctor's hearts sank,"...nah, they've become really up market now. They do pickles in jars, and beer on tap!"

"Oh no," was all he time to say.

Jackie Tyler entered "The Boars Head".

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They say you know when you're going to die. It's this feeling that slowly creeps up your spine in those last moments, as you carry out what ever so-called safe activity you were doing, or running from whatever terror stalked you. You're very much aware of Death before the end.

This was not the case for Lloyd Pryce.

The rain was falling heavily as he walked away from the pub, in search of Rose. He had no idea how he'd begin telling her about the Doctor. For Rose Tyler, he knew, this is incredibly fragile territory. How would she react? He'd spent years as her shoulder to lean on, helping her through difficult times. He'd remembered how her mother had, at first, told him to be careful around her; she used to be full of spirit, always laughing and smiling, but something had happened that she'd never quite recovered from. She'd still smile, still laugh on occassion, but Lloyd always got the impression that something was lacking, like there was a hole in her personality where something had once been. Just a little thing, tiny even, but one that - to those who knew her - was noticeable. Maybe the Doctor would fill that hole, being, Lloyd had no doubt, the one who'd done so before.

He looked around, Canada Square's block of high-rise towers just see-able through the dense rainfall. His gaze lingered on the top of Canary Wharf's structure, knowing that (were the windows clear) he would see Rose, probably still busying about her desk. He grinned fondly.

The last grin to ever cross his face.

Lloyd's last thought was one of shock and confusion. One moment he was fine, the next a pain coarsed down through his body, from head to toe, searing hot against the freezing rain. He felt blood ooze down from a hole in his head, over his eyes, colouring his vision red. He fell to the floor, noticing an object, the one that had fallen through his body. It glistened in the refracting light of the rain, and, in the moment of his death, Lloyd realised the horror of what was happening.

It was raining.

Icicles.

Razor. Sharp. Icicles.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4 - The Quiet Streets of London -------------------**

The Doctor couldn't bring himself to speak. He just stood, on the spot, not daring to move, the people in "The Boar's Head" all silent following the smash of a woman's glass, and the audible gasp that followed.

Outside, clouds were gathering in the sky. Rain was falling, a little at first, gathering volume, trickling down the windows of the old pub. Occassionally the sky lit up, and thunder echoed all around. Inside, a glowing fire flickered in the wooden room, warming and cozy, contrasting with the calamity outside.

The stare Jackie Tyler levelled at The Doctor conveyed an array of innumerable emotions, from fuming rage to loving calm, stultifying shock to awesome relief. It was, The Doctor found, as if cowering in the presence of a wrathful god, yet towering over a petty schoolgirl. Always the mothers...

She slowly moved towards him, every footstep resounding in his chest, in time with the beating of his hearts. "Please," she begged in a strained tone, "please tell me...tell me you're not some projected image...tell me it's you...tell me you're here...tell me it's...it's..." she gulped, "tell me it's for Rose."

Pete Tyler moved up behind his wife, placing his arm on her shoulder, stopping her. Jackie's eyes never left The Doctor, and Pete's shortly joined hers. "Doctor," was all he said.

When you've lived for 900 years, when you've travelled the universe, when you've fought terrifying creatures, seen impossible things, it's a fear unlike any other when you're rendered helpless. With no plan, no defense to fall back on, it was one of those incredibly rare moments The Doctor was utterly speechless. Emotion of a strength he'd not felt since the Time War now coarsed through his veins, threatening to engulf him. Here stood the mother and father of the girl he...parents who'd probably had to endure some hardships, who'd had to watch their daughter's heart break. And he had the power to make them happy again, to make that all change. And he couldn't.

"Jackie, Pete, I..." he began, knowing full well his eyes were moist and he, too, was having difficulty speaking. There was a pause as he thought on what to say, his eyes darting around the room, body shaking with the effort of keeping himself under control. Pete looked sombre, and Jackie, The Doctor knew, was holding back tears. She would have to cry. "I'm sorry," was all he could muster in the end.

Jackie's eyes flickered something, but she continued to stare. "We're not the ones you should be saying that to," she said quietly.

And then a scream.

Outside, a tall woman stood, her face pale, petrified, staring at a man's body on the ground, blood pouring freshly from it.

The Doctor started for the door when there sounded the shattering of something. He stopped, looking outside for any indication as to what it was, and then there came another shattering. And another. He noticed on the ground pieces of what appeared to be glass, but glass falling from the sky? That was wierd, even by his standards. Then it clicked, the only obvious solution there could be - ice. "Come inside!" he shouted to the woman out front, who madly dashed for the door.

Once she was inside, the Doctor looked back out - the ice was falling faster now, the smashing noises becoming deafening. But this was no ordinary storm. He'd thought, perhaps, that the man who'd collapsed outside had just been unlucky, and fallen victim to a particularly terminal hailstone, but that was not the case - the hailstones falling were in no way 'stones'. They were icicles, thin and razor-sharp, raining down and knifing through all beneath them.

"D-Doctor..."

He turned round, a worried Jackie gazing back at him, her eyes showing confusion and fear. She made as if to speak, before her eyes widened in horror at something outside, and she turned away in shock. The Doctor pivoted on the spot, looking back out, his face grim. She had seen a woman and her child pinned down by the storm. He darted round the room then, drawing all the blinds and curtains therein, avoiding having to witness the massacre in the streets.

What was happening...and why?

Lucky for him, the TARDIS was nearby. Hoping Martha had made it to safety, he dashed for the door.

"Doctor!" Jackie called after him. But he didn't stop, and he didn't look back.

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Martha had watched Lloyd fall.

She was running to catch up to him, to apologise for the Doctor's behaviour, but also to demand one from him regarding his. She'd called his name, and he'd stopped dead in his tracks. She'd no idea that was literally.

He had just stood there for a moment, all his muscles tense, still as a statue. He wasn't facing her, so she'd approached him, about to put her hand on his shoulder, when he'd fallen to his knees. She didn't quite understand, and had nearly laughed at how stupid it'd seemed, before she'd seen the blood dying his blond hair a thick, crimson red. She didn't move, confused, shocked and terrified.

That had saved her life. Inches infront of her, something crashed into the floor from above, shattering into pieces. Martha shot a look up, an ominous black cloud in the skies over London. But it wasn't a normal rain cloud. There was something...different about it, a concealed malice.

She dared not spend time to think on it, and sprinted into the nearest building as more shatterings sounded all around her.

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Rose had jumped when the lightening had struck the tower's pylon. She'd also jumped when the lightening had struck it again. And again.

By what had to have been the twentieth strike, however, she was too wrapped up in thought to pay the gargantuan noise any notice; what the hell was going on?

Following the first strike, she'd gazed up out of the window, heart racing from the shock, to check the skies above. Sure enough, a big fat raincloud hung over half of London. After giving the cloud a "thank you" for the jolt, Rose had closed the window and sought out her raincoat. "Nothing like a nice shower while you walk home," she'd sighed. But, as soon as she'd retrieved it, there came another. This one had caused her to close her eyes, cover her ears and scream audibly in shock, dropping her raincoat. Embarassed, unknowing if anyone else had been in the room, she'd quickly corrected herself and gone back to the window. Thankfully, no one else had been present. "S'pose that old myth about lightening never striking the same place twice can be laid to rest then..."

What had worried her was how there had then been a third and fourth strike in quick succession after that. Not only had they made her jump (again), but it was just so uncanny. "Okay, maybe I heard it wrong. Lightning doesn't strike in the same place *thrice*. Or four times..."

Of course, there then came a fifth, sixth and seventh.

Sitting down at her desk, deciding not to brave the walk home, she stared outside at the streets below, worried, utterly confused, yet alert for the next strike. Common sense told her this weather was just a little odd, but only when she focused her gaze on the unusual rain outside did she realise just how wrong it was. "That's not rain..."

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The streets below were littered with bodies. Person after person, child after child, cat after dog - they all fell under the deadly rain, their howls of terror and pain resounding through the many alleys and down the many roads.

Buildings had all very quickly become sanctuaries.

Massive pile-ups of vehicles formed as an unlucky driver would fall victim to an ice bullet, crashing through their windscreen, and then through them. Pylons sparked as they were knocked out, collapsing into streets, and any air traffic in the skies above was sliced up (along with its passengers), only to come roaring down to Earth in pieces.

As bloodied ice melted on the streets, water began flowing in rivulets down slopes, and puddles collected here and there. Still, death rained down from the sky, as if desiring to-no-end the extinction of all life below.

And as every shard of ice raining down from above collided with the surface water, a splash of blood red was there as greeting.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5 - Forecast Central -------------------**

"Chaos is a marvellous thing, isn't it?"

Her master's voice caused her to snap out of her reverie. "I s'ppose so, sir," she replied simply. He was staring at one of the many panels displaying the now silenced streets in London, smiling slightly every now and then as he saw another person fall. Poppy had never fully understood her master's fixation with destruction - it was all just a lot of noise, really, and she thought it nothing special - but she made an attempt at agreeing with him nonetheless. She had never liked their arguments.

He continued to stare at the screens, and eventually responded. "Is that all I'm to get, my dear?"

Lightly, Poppy answered, "Well, I could make a point on behalf of the humans - that what you're doing is on the verge of genecide, it's inhumane, it's sick - or on behalf of myself - why don't you rid the planet of them all at once, rather than extending their extinction in this tedious fashion - but this would cause debate, and said debate would distract you from observing the monitors and witnessing your much-loved slaughter."

At this, the man looked up and locked his gaze with hers. Poppy shuddered inwardly - never before had she met a man with such empty eyes; all colour had drained from the irises, leaving only white, accentuated against large dilated pupils. His wild dark hair intensified them, contrasting almost completely with the alabastar skin in which they were set. Wearing black as he always did, the only real colour on his entire person belonged to his lips: an extrinsic pale blue. He was beautiful, she thought, but in a very errant way. "You always had my best interests at heart," he remarked, before feigning a smile. "Why don't you come and join me? The show's quite a killer."

She shook her head, remaining where she sat at her own panel. There were no windows in this room, the only light artificial, and dim at that, giving her master a much more sinister look than normal. If she could, she'd avoid getting closer. "I'd rather not," she began, "I need to keep an eye on these energy readings. The amount this facility is consuming to generate that cloud out there is too great to be run by computer."

Her master, seemingly acknowledging this, looked back at the computer panels before him in silence, and Poppy had to restrain herself from letting out a sigh of relief.

After a few moments, he spoke once more, and Poppy jerked as his voice broke the silence. His eyes never left the monitors. "The energy levels - how great are they?"

He'd never asked about anything to do with her work before. Surprised, she responded, "W-Well, they're really something...much higher than any of this equipment was designed for. Atmospheric excitation has never been too much of a problem, but actually stimulating the water molecules in the cloud to freeze into a fixed, regular shape...that takes some doing."

"Well then," he started, averting his gaze from the screens and staring her way once again, "I am pleased that I have your expertise in this field."

It should have been a compliment - receiving it from anyone else, she would have smiled - but she could find no positive feeling within her when under his gaze. His voice was always the same tone that never faltered; everyone to hear it would register the matter-of-fact nature to it, but everyone would also recognise the underlying malice, so perfectly implemented in every word that the listener got the impression they were meant to be aware of it, while at the same time not so. It was, in short, brilliantly sinister.

Poppy nodded awkwardly and looked back down at her work. "I-I should really get back to this," she said, and her master nodded.

"I apologise. Do continue."

She tried to smile gratefully, but, finding she couldn't, hurriedly returned to her work. "T-Thank you, Master."

He smiled then, wickedly. "I love it when you use my name."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6 - Stormy Reunion -------------------**

Rose was beginning to feel the strain as she dealt with her frantic co-workers.

Much to her surprise, not long after the calamity outside had started, around twenty people had rushed into her office in quick succession. Turns out she wasn't the only one to work late on weekdays. To her dismay, however, only two of them were 'proper' Torchwood workforce -- qualified researchers and the like -- while the rest were government-hired cleaning staff.

Fortunately, the two researchers were at least on the ball, holding back the urge to overreact and, instead, went about gently querying Rose as to whether or not she had any idea as to just what was happening all over London. The same couldn't be said for the cleaners; massaging her temples with her fingers, she felt the unyielding desire to scream "shut up!" as, one after the other, the mop-wielding lunatics practically screamed at her in panic.

Sat behind her desk, the two scientists flanking her, her brow twitched periodically:  
"What the hell's going on!?"

Twitch.

"Oh, there's no signal!! Why?? Can't you do something!?"

Twitch.

"My kids!! My kids are at home, alone!! You've got to help them, please!!"

Twitch.

"This will have completely destroyed my flower arrangements in the yard...!!"

Twitch.

"It's global-warming gone MAD!!"

Enough. She jerked upright, standing, slamming both her hands onto the table, hunching, and glaring at the raving party before her. Keeping her voice cool and composed, she addressed the stunned-to-silence individuals, locking her gaze with each and every one of them before she had finished: "So that I don't I get so frustrated with the lot of you that I wind up passing out redundancies, let me make this clear: I do *not* know what is happening out there. I have *no* idea why it is happening. And I *don't* have any clue as to how we should all now procede. In fact, I may be so bold as to say that we are, without doubt, in quite a spot of BOTHER!!"

The crowd recoiled at that last word.

And then the power shorted-out.

Twitch.

In the darkness, Rose's hands clenched into fists on the table. The cleaners, now daring not to even think a complaint, merely murmered amongst themselves. Taking a long, deep breath, Rose flexxed her hands a few times before fumbling for the switch under desk that activated the emergency power. One of the scientists, female, turned to look out of one of the large windows -- it was as dark outside as it was in. The big, black cloud sat like a lid atop the city. There would be no natural light this evening, neither moon nor star.

Light flickered behind her, and the scientist turned around to find small wall lights illuminated all around. The emergency power in all its glory. "T-They're a bit dim..." she remarked, without thinking.

Rose shot a dangerous glance at her then, as if to say "Oh, so now *you* want the sack?". Luckily for the scientist, Rose kept her composure. "What did you say your name was?"

The woman put her hand to her chest. "M-Me? I'm Alyx, sir."

Rose walked over to her then, and extended her arm. "Well, provided you drop the formalities and make no more sarky remarks, we should get on just fine, Alyx." Whilst shaking hands, Rose noted just how attractive the female scientist was. Dangerously so, in fact. Young, slender, dark-haired, well-angled features. Perfect decoy material, then, for any future assignments...

"I hope so too," Alyx continued. "My friend here, a scientist from the Artifacts and Runes Deptartment, his name's Brendan," she further informed Rose, nodding at the man in question.

Again, Rose had another young, attractive member of the institute on her hands. Rugged jawline, impressive upper-body, toned. "Pleased to meet you, Miss," he said with a smile. A smile that would melt any unsuspecting woman's heart, no doubt. Or man's, realising she was dealing with someone who obviously took care of themselves.

"Okay," Rose said, walking off into a corner of her office to pace back and forth, turning things over and over in her mind. "We need a plan of action, some way of making sense of all this."

Brendan interjected, "What do we do if the building doesn't hold out? I mean, if the weather gets worse and..."

Rose, still pacing, crossed her arms, "Well, if that happens, we're out of luck." She stood on the spot then, and fixed her eyes with Brendan's. "But you shouldn't think like that -- in these sort of situations, think only in the here and now, about what needs doing in order to survive. Worrying about things you have no control over is stupid."

Brendan nodded, understanding, and Rose's gaze wondered as she contemplated what to do. "Alyx, you know where the Satellite and Communications Center is?"

Alyx smiled, "Yes ma'am, SatCom's where I work."

"Brilliant," Rose grinned back, ignoring the formality. "I need you to go there and get all orbiting craft we have to scan the skies above Britain. Brendan, you accompany her, and dig up all the meteorological reports over the last 72 hours. If either of you find anything strange or unusual, however seemingly insignificant, report back here immediately."

With a salute and a simultaneous "We're on it!", the two walked swiftly out of Rose's office and made their way downstairs. Rose allowed herself a quick smile at the determined looks the two had given off -- they've definitely earned this job.

"Um, excuse me, Ms. Tyler?"

Rose's gaze moved over to the other corner of the room, where the still-intimidated cleaning crew waited. "Um," one of them began, "Is there any way we can help?"

Once again, Rose smiled. "That's more like it," she began, "some cooperation! Well, yes, there is. The two scientists downstairs will probably need three or four of you to help keep things organised. So there's one thing. And I'd like a large chunk of you to go and raid the cantines, maybe cook something up -- I get the feeling we might all be living here for a while, so we'll need food and drink to keep us running. Judging by the size of the stores last time I saw them, we should be okay for at least a week in here. The rest of you? Arrange all the rooms on this floor around my office to be suitable for sleeping in...I want to keep us all together, and comfy. We'll need our sleep no doubt." Content with having given them all something to do, Rose stood on the spot, proud of herself. Noticing the lingering presence of all the cleaners, she realised it was necessary to make things clearer: "Now get to it!"

And with that, all the staff began shuffling and moving out of the door, each off to do one of the instructed tasks.

Rose noticed, however, that one older woman had remained behind. She looked a tad like the elderly lady from the 'Titanic' movie, she thought. Perplexed, she asked "Can I help you?"

The old woman stared at her in what appeared to be admiration. "You spoke as if there is hope. So determined, so sure of yourself, unconciously boosting the morale of the others." The senior slowly walked up to her then, and regarded her. "So young, so pretty," the woman began, stroking Rose's face, "yet those eyes of yours betray a certain wisdom. And a certain hurt."

Slightly taken aback, Rose began, "I-I don't know what you..."

"But don't worry," the elder woman cut-in, "all wounds heal in time. You, of all people, should know that." The woman's look was an unnervingly knowing one, her tone almost, if only for a moment, threatening.

"I'm sorry?" Rose retorted, concerned.

The older woman laughed gently. "Think nothing of it my dear." Her hand dropped from Rose's face, and the woman turned to leave. At the door, she stopped and turned back to face Rose. "Do the words 'Bad Wolf' mean anything to you?"

Sheer shock in Rose's eyes answered the question.

The older woman just smiled again. "All you need is the right kind of doctor."

There was a pause, and the elderly lady put her hand to her ear as if listening for something. Silence. Nothing. Nothing except Rose's unsteady breathing as she began trembling.

And then a noise. A grinding noise. Barely on the edge of hearing, but it was getting louder and louder. Rose could feel her heart beat in her mouth.

"At long last," the older woman narrated, "he arrives."

And sure enough, there was a flashing light, an intensifying light, and the sound amplifying, louder and louder. Papers and and dust and all manner of things blew about the room, Rose pressed against the wall to remain upright, the elder woman clutching her blouse about her.

And as Rose drew back her hair that blew about her vision, she was greeted with the sight of something she thought she'd forever lost.

Accompanied by the sound of the universe, the TARDIS materialised before her.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7 - A Doctor and His Rose ------------------- **

The jolting and rocking stopped, and the TARDIS' central column slowed, whirring and grinding all the while -- travelling through an alternate dimension wasn't pleasing her, the Doctor could tell that much. After all, the TARDIS sustained itself off the power of the universe, its own universe...not a parallel one. He was flying a petrol engine on diesel fuel.

"There's a point," he muttered to himself, running his hand through his hair. How was he gonna get back this time? Martha's control fumbling, however accidental, had ripped a hole in space-time and they'd fallen through, but everything had happened so fast that the Doctor was clueless as to where this hole actually was. "Needle in a haystack?" He sighed. "Try grain of sugar on a beach..."

He looked down at a monitor. His eyebrow raised in surprise as he discovered he'd landed in Torchwood Tower. "Well, of course, they would be involved, wouldn't they?" But something wasn't quite right -- he'd tracked the unusual energy signature to this location, and yet it wasn't showing up onscreen. After scanning for it again, the Doctor found that the energy readings were exactly 30 miles directly above his current position. So why had the TARDIS brought him here?

Something flashed on the screen then, a new reading. Something, somewhere was sending out a communications broadcast. Curious, the Doctor opened up a channel, and the message sounded throughout the TARDIS. His hands immediately went to his ears -- the sound was deafening, like a hammer hitting metal, and it consisted of a series of percussive blasts. After adjusting the volume dial and listening for a few moments, the Doctor registered that the message was repeating itself, the same noises again and again, always either a long bleep or a short blip. But what was it, what coding? It seemed so familiar...

Bleep. Blip. Blip. Blip.  
Blip. Bleep.  
Bleep. Blip. Blip.

"Ahh, of course!!!" the Doctor exclaimed, hitting himself as he did so, "International Morse Code!!" He beamed as his brain got to work translating.

Blip. Bleep. Bleep.  
Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.  
Blip. Bleep. Blip. Blip.  
Blip. Blip. Bleep. Blip.

And then realisation dawned, and his mouth went dry. "How...?"

He dashed back to the screen, hurriedly trying to pinpoint the signal's source of origin. "What!?" he kept blurting aloud, again and again. "What!?" as his fingers typed away. Who was sending it? Where from? And how, how, just *how* was it that those two words, those two ominous words had found him again?

The Time War was over. Rose had left. And he'd crossed an entire universe. "I mean, come one, how much farther away could you go!?" Yet here they were, those two words, echoing round and round the the Doctor's head, inescapable and omnipresent.

Bad Wolf.

With a frustrated grunt he flicked a couple of switches, turned a dial and, as a show of good faith, thumped a mallet against one of the TARDIS' many bells. Sparks escaped, objects flew and the Doctor broke a sweat. It was all in vain, however, as the mytserious signal ceased transmitting without warning. The Doctor clasped the monitor in his hands. "N-n-no no no no no!!" he exclaimed in desperation, but the signal was lost, and he was as clueless as before as to its origin.

Following an exasperated sigh, he resigned to checking outside. Despite the unusual readings from before and the growing concern he now felt, the TARDIS had brought him to Torchwood Tower for a reason, and he might as well discover what.

He picked his trench coat up as he strolled towards the exit, doubling back for the psychic paper (one of the objects that flew). Satisfied he had everything he'd need, sonic screwdriver included, he made to unlock the door, when the locking mechanism clicked of its own accord before he got to it. Startled, the Doctor jumped back a bit -- someone was unlocking the TARDIS from the outside. Which meant they had to have a key.

He grinned, impressed. "Martha Jones," he began loudly, "how on Earth did you know to come here before me? You clever -- "

But as the door swung open, the Doctor choked on his words. It felt like someone had thumped him in the stomach. His airwaves seemed to shrink and tighten in his chest. The blonde girl before him wasn't Martha. No she really wasn't Martha.

If she was Martha, he wouldn't be caught tongue-tied. If she was Martha, he wouldn't be on the verge of tears. If she was Martha, he wouldn't feel this euphoric. And, if she was Martha, he wouldn't be petrified.

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There was a flash of light, illuminating the room in which the two stood. A clap of thunder followed.

Rose jumped, remembering where she was. She'd gotten lost in his eyes many times before.

How long had they been stood standing here?

Did it matter?

She needed the time to process things -- she'd never been so torn in her life: anger, hurt, relief, joy. All of these emotions and, still now, after all these years, love. The Doctor was here, right here, right in front of her, the same face, the same suit, the same posture. He looked at her with those eyes, those ancient eyes, his mouth ever-so slightly agape, as it always was when something had him taken aback.

She noticed the Doctor's eyes water as he cleared his throat, and clocked that her eyes, too, were moist. He made as to if to say something, but Rose was well aware he was completely stumped on where to begin. After all, so was she.

In an effort to ease what was essentially an emotional Mexican stand-off at point-blank range, Rose backed away from the TARDIS slightly. The Doctor tentatively followed, stepping out of the police box and allowing the door to shut behind him. For the first time in what seemed like years, the Doctor's eyes left Rose. "I..." he began, staring at the floor, "Rose, I...I am so..."

But Rose cut him off, not with words, but with a finger against his lips. Surprised, his eyes met hers again, and a smile began to play about his features. She laughed to herself, poking his lips a few times. "I can touch you," she half-whispered, and stroked the Doctor's cheek with her free hand. "I can actually touch you."

"What an honour," he replied, a full boyish grin now across his face.

Rose laughed loudly then. "Shut up," she began, but then the tears caught up with her -- the years of pining after him, hoping to see him again, trying to forget him -- and she collapsed, sobbing into the Doctor's arms. His arms wrapped around her tight, and he buried his head in her golden hair, breath shaky as he did so.

Choking on the pain in between words, Rose clenched the material of the Doctor's suit and held tight. "What...what took you so...so long?"

The hurt in Rose's voice as she asked that question nearly broke the Doctor. There were reasons, sure, and five seconds ago they would've been good reasons too: the walls between their worlds had closed, inter-dimensional travel was impossible. But now? Having heard her ask why? What were his reasons for taking this long? How long was this long?

He would make it up to her. He swore it to himself. She was Rose, his Rose. She had brought him out of the grief of the Time War, back to humanity. Hers had been the smile that meant fighting was worth it. And then it dawned on him: the answer he would give her, the answer he owed her, and the honest answer too.

Supporting her chin with his hand, the Doctor brought her eyeline up to meet his. And without any reserve, any fear of disappearing across the Void, the Doctor admitted, simply, "Because I love you."

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_So, my dear readers:  
a) Thank you for making it this far. I hope the journey hasn't been particularly awful...  
b) THANK GOD I finally got 'em reunited eh? Sorry to spin it out for so long, I was just getting carried away with the silly plot, clichés and needless character development. What can I say?  
c) This is the last chapter of this fanfic. I know, I know: "BUT WHAT ABOUT TEH MASTER YO~!?!?" Don't worry. The plot's being picked up in the next one i'm writing -- I figure I need to call it something else, as the "Stormy Reunion" has now happened! Alas, keep your eyes peeled. Or just wait till I put the link down here for ya once it's written. Your choice._

_Peace (Y)_

_-- ddggrule xx_


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